The Amell Tragedy
by pippin143
Summary: Hawke's story is a sad one, and she feels it's time someone paid for it.


**Due to a bug in my personal gameplay, this is what I decided went down.**

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"Hawke, you _know_ this is wrong."

"I didn't ask for your opinion," the long, brown haired woman bit back, gold eyes both fiery and cold. "I only wished to warn you about what I'm going to do. You will cover it up for me, won't you?"

"Hawke," Aveline nearly cried, throwing out her clad arms in loud frustration, "I can't cover up _murder_. I will never _cover up_ murder. It's out of the question."

"But in the past—!"

"No." Aveline asserted, her eyes hard and narrow. Hawke knew she was speaking the truth. "I have never covered up one of your vigilante acts, no matter how justified. I have only exaggerated the crimes of the individual and made sure to slap your title in several times. But taking the law into your own hands is still a crime."

"Aveline he's a blood mage," Hawke growled, clenching her white fists, "killing them _is_ the law."

"Hawke he—you're a bloody hypocrite Hawke, or have your forgotten all about our dear friend Merrill?" Aveline sighed, trying to suppress the redheaded rage that was threatening to show. This was not the argument she was trying to make. Hawke needed to be stopped, for the law's sake and her own.

"Sarah," Aveline tried again, suppressing the edge in her voice and trying for a softer tone, "He is not the one responsible for your family. Killing him is not going to end your pain, and it's not going to bring them back."

"He was working with Quentin!" Hawke yelled, her pale face growing visibly red in the harsh Kirkwall daylight filling the captain's office. "He wanted to become him! He—he supported the evil that bastard did to my mother, he would have done it himself! He's a torment and a disease—I can't let him live."

"Then why did you let him leave in the first place?" Aveline challenged, noisily crossing her arms. "Why wait all this time?"

"I—I don't know!" Hawke yelled, real tears welling in her eyes. "I just wanted to save my mother…and after I couldn't…he was gone. I just wanted to save her. I just—oh maker!"

Aveline had never seen Hawke cry. No one had. Not when they first met and the woman had just lost her home and father. Not when Carver was brutally killed in front of them by the ogre. Not when Bethany nearly succumbed to the taint in the Deep Roads and they were forced to turn her into a Grey Warden. Sometimes Aveline wondered if Bethany would have been better off if she had died that day.

She knew Hawke wasn't emotionless; she knew Hawke grieved alone, in her own way. But she was a strong woman, and she wanted to be strong for her friends.

So Aveline had never seen her cry, and so Aveline had no idea what to do.

"Sarah," Aveline nearly whispered, reaching tentatively out to her friend, but withdrew when the woman shot her a venomous look. "Hawke, I agree. This man needs to be executed. He needs to be made an example of and to answer for his sins. But not by you, not in this way."

"You people," Hawke hissed, a disturbing air of mirth entered her distraught voice. "All you I call my friends! I have helped you on your little quests, your little vendettas! And now, when I need you most, you deny me this—my right? Can't you see I need to do this?"

"I can see why you want to do this," Aveline answered steadily, returning Hawke's deadly glare. "But that is exactly why you shouldn't. You're giving yourself over to your hatred, to the pain you've both repressed and preserved all these years. As your friend I cannot let you do this, I can't let your destroy everything you are and stand for!"

"Everything I stand for…" Hawke repeated eyes flicking away. She shuddered as the sorrow threatened to take hold. "I stand for justice. I need to see this is done."

"You're beginning to sound like that blasted Anders," Aveline laughed bitterly. "And we all know how close he's come to going over the edge. I've made my case…" She turned around, muscles tight with restraint. It had taken every ounce of her disciplined blood to prevent her from pounding some sense into her best friend's head. "Just—please, Hawke. Please don't do this to yourself."

"Keep your guards out of Darktown tonight," Hawke replied, voice going hoarse. "I'll be taking Fenris with me."

xxx

"Are we doing the right thing?" Hawke asked Fenris quietly as they wound their way through the night's empty streets. She brushed some of the long hair from her face, nervous for the first time in years. It'd always been hard to take a life, but knowing the men and women she felled were evil, cruel criminals who'd just as soon killed her always helped.

Tracking down a man who believed himself forgiven and promised to start a new, righteous life, however, made her uneasy. "Blasted Aveline," she cursed under her breath. The red-headed guard captain was the one who'd filled her mind with these doubts.

"The man is murderer, a _blood_ mage," Fenris said, consistent with his feelings for the beings. "Even if he hadn't been involved in Leandra's death, he would still need to be put down."

Hawke nodded. She knew this would be Fenris's answer before she even asked the question, but the plan was beginning to gnaw at her. That was the main reason she brought just Fenris with. He would bolster her resolve and make sure Gascard paid for his crimes tenfold what her mother suffered. The second reason, of course, was that she loved and trusted him above all other people, even though he spurned the memory of the night they shared not too long ago. But that was problem she would deal with another time.

"But…" he added suddenly, his gravelly voice dropping an octave lower, if that was even possible, "I understand what may be troubling you."

"Troubling me?" she repeated sharply in surprise. "I assure you, I have no qualms about making this blood-guzzling bastard pay."

"Neither do I," he assured her, voice even and full of grit. They walked another block in silence and began to descend their way into Darktown, the underground district of the city overlooking the Twin's bay from the mountain's side.

"Remember when we were attacked by those slavers on Sundermount?" he said suddenly, his pale green eyes drifting to her gold to judge if the conversation was appropriate. She nodded yes but kept her eyes on the ground. "They were led by one of my former masters, a mage woman named Hadriana. I hated and wanted her dead more than anything, save Danarius of course. So when I got the chance to kill her I took it, even though I promised to spare her if she gave us information on my family.

"But killing her did not make the pain I feel go away." He continued, big eyes welling and drifting to the dusty pavement. "I'll have to live with this pain—these burning marks and those memories of torment—forever. Not even killing Danarius will end it."

"Why are you telling me this, Fenris?" she breathed.

"What you're truly seeking may not be found in this monster's death."

xxx

"Hawke!" Gascard DuPuis said suddenly as he noticed a very angry Hawke and her tattooed, pet elf approach him in the Darktown alley. He'd given them the slip after the whole 'murderer's accomplice' incident and was laying low in Kirkwall's underbellies waiting for a ship to sail back to Orlais. He'd feared the vengeful band of misfits might come looking for him, but it'd been nearly two weeks. He thought it'd be safe to walk about by now.

"I should thank you for showing me what a monster Quentin was…" he continued, still trying to recover from the ill-wanted surprise. "I, uh, I'm really sorry about your mother." His accent was strong and uneasy.

"It's your fault she's dead!" Hawke reproached, her voice low and finger pointing like some petulant child blaming a sibling, "You knew Quentin all along, you could have helped me stop this!" Her brow furrowed menacingly around her dark facial tattoos, gold eyes lighting like a demon in the night. Gascard felt his spine shiver and his scarred hands begin to sweat.

"How was I supposed to know he was going to take your mother?!" He retorted nervously, gesticulating to burn the fear driven energy surging through his limbs.

"Fenris, what would _you_ do to him?" Hawke said with a malicious scowl, ignoring his defense but never taking those gold eyes off him.

Before he had time to flee or protest, the hand of the tattooed elf phased through his body, locking him in place and curling around his heart. Gascard gasped involuntarily, and looked down in horror at the arm penetrating his chest. He expected to see blood pouring from his organs, to see the broken bones of his ribcage protruding through his silk vest. But all he saw was the ghostly image of a blue hand and the cold emptiness it placed in his heart.

His horrified, strangled screams came well before the pain.

"That pain you feel is just the beginning, mage," Fenris spit, his angular face tightening and jaw clenching as he squeezed Gascard's heart harder. There was hate in his green eyes that ran deeper than Leandra's murder.

Gascard's screams echoed throughout the Darktown nightlife, and anyone that heard chose to walk faster the other way or double check their bolted shudders. There was no law or loyalty in Kirkwall's slums. He was going to die.

But the pain would not stop. Breathing hard in between screams and tears, he managed to cry, "What do you want from me?!" Hawke only stared on, her expression unreadable.

He clawed futilely at the arm with his clammy hands, staring at the elf and seeing the monster he truly was. The demon. "Oh maker!" he begged, crying some more. The elf named Fenris only sneered and squeezed harder, his clawed gauntlet threatening to puncture Gascard's bruised, rapidly beating heart.

"I—I lied!" He finally blurted out, knowing full well they wanted him to confess before ending him. If that was the only way to end this pain, then so be it. "I knew Quentin from the start!" Fenris's eyes goaded him to continue as he violently released his hold, sending Gascard's limp body tumbling to the piss-wetted, putrid ground.

He coiled in pain on the floor, surprised to be alive. He felt his heart hammering in his chest, making his organs quiver and stomach churn. To his surprise, there was no hole, however, but a cold ghost of the pressure still remained. Coughing and clutching his chest, he pushed himself to his knees, bowed over like a dog.

"It was never about revenge…" he managed through his pained breath and tears, "...I never had a sister. That portrait in my house…it belonged to a woman I…I experimented on when Quentin refused to teach my necromancy."

His voice adopted a dark, self-loathing note as they all recalled the façade he tried to pull when they caught him the first time. He swore he was only using bloodmagic to find Quentin's victims. He had spun a sad tale of how Quentin had killed his sister years before in a manner similar to how he was killing his new batch of victims. All of that was a lie. Qunetin wasn't killing for fun or ritual. He was selecting victims to recreate—to rebuild—the body of his dead wife. Leandra's face was the last piece he needed.

Gascard pushed himself to his feet, protectively sheltering his heart with shaking arms. His pale, sweating face grew whiter as he saw the unwavering lust to kill in the pair in front of him.

"Killing me _is not_ going to bring your mother back!" he breathed with harsh emphasis.

Hawke stared at him for a moment, her nostrils flaring as she exhaled a long, silent breath. Her eyes were wide and the black pupils shot through him like daggers, causing him a pain different than what Fenris inflicted but just as unbearable. She blamed him for more than the death of her mother. She blamed him for the fall of the Amell family.

"It won't bring her back," Hawke said finally, her voice slow and dangerous as she let a stiletto fall from her sleeve into her open palm, "but it will make me feel better."

xxx

Hawke sat in her quiet study, the warm firelight playing across the walls and papers in her hand. Pippin, her faithful but old mabari, lounged in the hearth's heat snoring loudly every once in a while to remind her he was still there. She bent down in the chair and scratched his ears. They pricked up happily and he gave her a warm lick with his slobbery tongue.

Though the house seemed emptier than ever these past few years, Hawke had found friends who were close to her as any nuclear family. And they meant just as much.

Aveline and Varric would always be there for her no matter what, Isabella and Anders had grown to trust her and her them even though their ethics differed, Merrill still insisted on dabbling in bloodmagic but was at least willing to hear Hawke out and follow her anywhere, and even her estate's servants, Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana, had become like weird relatives. And then Fenris…

She blushed at the memory of that night they spent together three years ago. He'd told her it was done, that it was impossible for him to be intimate with anyone ever again, but something in the way he looked at her said otherwise.

Going through her unopened letters, her heart fluttered as she saw a new one from Bethany. Never knowing if her sister was still alive or not, or even cared to inform her due to their now strained relationship, she held the letter close fearing its contents. With a deep breath she tore the seal open, heaving a relieved sigh upon recognizing her sister flowery handwriting.

 _Sarah,_

 _I'm still travelling with the Wardens in Orlais. The situation is looking grimmer with each passing year and I often wonder if I'll ever see Kirkwall again. I guess it no longer matters, as I didn't live there long enough to ever feel comfortable calling it home. I hope you are still well. Continue fighting the good fight._ I love you.

 _-Bethany_

Hawke felt her heart seize in her throat and warm tears run down her cheeks. Though the letter made her sad, she felt a smile spread on her face. Bethany was still alive. She placed it in the pile with Bethany's others, a stack that grew slower each passing year. She sighed and wiped her eyes.

Bethany had written 'I love you' in a different scrawl, still hers but not matching the flow of the other sentences. It had been added as an afterthought, but at least she put it this time. Hawke prayed to the Maker to protect her sister and once again to forgive Hawke for her ambition and naivety all those years ago. She should have never brought Bethany on that forsaken expedition.

Looking down at the unopened pile on her lap, the next letter caught her eye.

It was from Gascard DuPuis.

She stared at the letter for a moment, biting her lip hesitantly, then with a small sigh broke the seal and began reading the blotchy ink.

 _Hawke,_

 _I'm probably the last person you wish to hear from. I played a regrettable part in your mother's death, and I will live with that the rest of my life. You could have killed me, but showed me mercy. I have decided to use this second chance to change my ways. I am giving up magic. I found this magical artifact in my stash. Perhaps you will find some use for it._

 _-Gascard DuPuis_

She hadn't thought about Gascard in years. Setting the letter aside she looked at the precious necklace it contained contemplating how she felt. Three years ago the mere thought of him would have made her skin crawl and thoughts dark, but now she felt nothing save puzzlement.

Her mind flashed back to the memory of that fateful night in Darktown and the choices she made.

xxx

"Killing me _is not_ going to bring your mother back!" Gascard scolded her in a pained breath.

Face tight, Hawke stared him down, mentally tearing him to shreds. But what he said… No, she commanded herself, do not give into his pleas now. He could have stopped the murder of her mother, hell, he committed his own murders and envied the man who did it! He was no better than an accomplice and for that and he deserved to die.

"It won't bring her back," she replied, her voice low and gritty as she let a stiletto fall into her hand from a concealed pocket in her rouge armor, "but it will make me feel better."

The stiletto was warm in her hand, begging for her to release it into the wicked bloodmage's chest. Her fingers twitched on the hilt but she could not bring herself to hurl it forward as she'd done before. Fighting the hesitation, she instead took a step towards the cowering man.

Just as well, she thought viciously clenching her jaw. It would be more personal this way.

Reaching him she pulled her arm back, firmly gripping the knife in a white-knuckled hand. Gascard smelled like piss and sweat, his once fine, noble suit soiled from hiding down in the gutters and stained beyond recognition. His blonde hair was a disheveled mess and his pale brown eyes wide on his stark white face. In short, the man was terrified.

As he should be, Hawke thought readying to send the knife forward into his already damaged heart. But something stayed her hand.

The man was unarmed, terrified, begging for his life. True, most of her enemies begged in the end, but this was different. Was this what she truly wanted? To kill a man willing to repent, willing to turn his back on everything he was?

She ground her teeth. Why had she all of the sudden lost her nerve? Her mind flashed back to Aveline warning her about destroying herself, to Fenris asking her if this was what she truly wanted, and finally to Gascard himself speaking the words she knew were true.

Killing him would not bring her mother, Bethany, Carver, or her father back. Her family was what she truly wanted. To place the blame on someone other than herself was what she was seeking. She couldn't do this.

No, she wouldn't do this.

With a furious howl, she stuck the blade into Gascard, making sure to twist it for good measure. He gasped in pain, looking at the second object to pierce his body today with hostility and fear.

The agonized gasp quickly turned into shallow breathing and Hawke watched with satisfaction as his eyes dilated and knees went limp. Hastily wrenching the stiletto from his left shoulder and wiping it on her baggy pants, she watched as his body fell to the ground.

"Contrary to popular opinion," she snarled, letting the knife disappear back up her sleeve, "You won't be dying today…at least not by our hands." She walked over to his limp, but still breathing, body and nudged him over with her boot. "That shoulder wound shouldn't be fatal, as long as you bandage it up as soon as possible. At best it'll leave you with a nice scar to remember your undeserved mercy by. The blade I stuck you with, however, was laced crow venom. You'll be stunned for up to an hour and feel sluggish the rest of the day."

Hawke turned, walking away from Gascard's confused, pained eyes. Fenris stood by him a moment longer, shifting his weight as he tried to figure out what to do. With a gruff Tevinter curse he spun from the drugged, bleeding man and followed Hawke out of the alley.

"You're in the Maker's hands now DuPuis," Hawke called, voice tight and stomach in knots, "Pray the poison wears off before you bleed out or some cut-throat finds you."

xxx

Hawke rolled DuPuis's scapular necklace in her hands, pondering what to do with it. Maker forbid she herself would wear the blighted thing, but perhaps Merrill or Ander's could get some use out of it. She sighed and then resentfully tossed it into the fire. The gold embroidered, white cloth lit up almost immediately, smoking blue as the enchantments were released.

So Gascard did indeed survive their encounter. Her friends, especially Fenris and Aveline, were surprised she let him live. But no one had been more surprised than herself.

She had not been looking for justice or revenge that night. She had only been looking to place the blame for her family's tragic end.

She still often wondered if sparing Gascard was the right choice and if killing him really would have impacted the person she had become. But despite it all she was happy. She was Champion of Kirkwall, the voice and arm of the people, the moral compass all turned to when in need. She laughed lightly and rose from the chair, ready to retire for the night. Pippin grunted and scrambled to stand, his rigid bones groaning as he followed her up the stairs.

"Come on, boy," she said with a tired smile, patting the bed to let him know it was okay to jump up. As if he needed an invitation. "We have a busy day tomorrow."

She hoped her parents, Maker rest their souls, were proud.


End file.
